Indigo Christmas Read Online Free Page A

serve. They lived in a fine house in the best part of town. They had servants of their own.
    Uncle Dan, a gregarious Irishman and sometime politician, had seen to it that Patrick met important men in town, and Patrick, who could charm a bird out of a tree, had adapted easily to his new life.
    Hilda hadn’t fared so well. The wives of those important men remembered Hilda as the maid who had taken their cloaks when they called upon the Studebakers, and they were not prepared now to treat her as an equal. It was all very well, they supposed, for a young Irishman to make his way up the ladder. Men were supposed to be ambitious. But for a servant girl to consider herself a lady—well, times were changing, but the wealthy ladies hoped they weren’t changing quite that fast. Some standards must be maintained.
    So the ladies like Mrs. Elbel called on Hilda only when they wanted her help with a project, and only when prompted by Molly Malloy. If Hilda tried to return their calls, they were “not at home.”
    The servants and tradesmen with whom she used to be on such easy terms were no better. At some deep level, they felt Hilda had betrayed them. Marry an upstart Irishman who’d come into money! Leave her old friends behind for la-di-da new ones! Well, they still had to work for their bread. They had no time to waste talking to a fine lady who came to show off her clothes and her jewels and look down on them (or so they interpreted her actions). They had better things to do with their precious free time, thank you very much.
    Hilda stopped and looked at Aunt Molly, dismay written across her face. “But—there is no one now—I am alone!”
    Molly gripped her hand. “You are not alone, Hilda Cavanaugh! It will be harder for you, yes, but you have your family still. And by that I mean, of course, Patrick’s family as well.”
    â€œThey do not like me. Mother Cavanaugh hates me.”
    â€œNo, Hilda, she does not. I am a mother of sons. I understand what she feels. She fears you. She fears you will take Patrick away from her, shake his religious convictions, change him. You must find a way to show her that his love for you does not change or diminish his love for her, and that your way of practicing your faith will not interfere with his different way. And one path to her trust will be to approach her for help in this matter.”
    â€œThe last time I tried to do that,” Hilda began, but the front door opened and Patrick walked in, with snow on his shoulders but a broad smile on his face and a small package in his hand.
    â€œI thought I’d turn to a snowman, just walkin’ from Uncle Dan’s carriage to the door!” he exclaimed. “I’ve brought you a present, darlin’ girl.” He held out his arms and Hilda ran to them, heedless of the snow.
    â€œOh, Patrick, I am so glad to see you!” She buried her face in his cold, wet shoulder.
    His mood changed immediately to match hers. “Darlin’, I’m getting you all wet. Let me take off my coat and then tell me what’s wrong. Hello, Aunt Molly. I didn’t see you standing there.”
    â€œPatrick, dear, come into the parlor. Something very serious has happened, and we need to discuss it.”
    Hilda hung Patrick’s coat and hat and muffler on the elaborate hall rack. Hilda was very proud of that hall rack, with its marble-framed mirror, its shiny brass hooks, its bench seat that opened to store boots and rubbers. Now she scarcely glanced at it, but followed Patrick and Molly into the parlor, where Eileen had lit the gas lamps and built a roaring fire in the grate.
    Patrick dropped down on the plush settee with a little grunt of relief and pulled Hilda down next to him. “This is what I was wantin’ all the way home in the carriage,” he said. “Warmth, comfort, and me darlin’ girl beside me. Now, love, tell me.”
    Already Hilda was less upset.